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From: Nakardian <nakardian@gmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Michael McCormick Ch.1 (slow mf MC)
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Date: Thu, 05 Mar 2009 06:10:02 -0500
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Author's Notes,

   This story is a complete work of fiction.  Although some of the
characters are loosely based on friends of mine, none of this shit should
be tried at home.  If you feel the need to try or you feel this story could
very likely be completely real, I want you to do this: Seek immediate
psychiatric help because you are a fuckin' loon.  I know that you think
your not and you know best but trust me, you don't shit.

   Now that I have gotten the mundane out of the way, let us jump to a few
real notes.

   Do I accept reviews?  Fuckin' A, I do.  They are the meat and potatoes
of writing.  Constructive criticism is welcome.  Flames are for retards
that are too stupid to find anything else to do.  I am particularly looking
for what you think of the character development and plot lines.  Give me a
shout; I am not like other authors that do not write back.  Though if you
do want me to write back, do not write anonymously.

   May your beer always bee cold and your women always hot.  Regards,

   Nakardian



   Michael McCormick

   {The Biography of Michael McCormick}

   By Nakardian



   Chapter One

   "All through the shadows, they come and they go.  With only one thing in
common, the fire down below....  Fire Down Below"Bob Seger

   My life completely changed on my thirteenth birthday during the time I
was walking home from school.  The following book is a biography of what
happened and how I came into being one of the most powerful individuals
that this world has ever seen.  Those are the words of one of my
slaves--Kelly to be precise.  I never was much for bragging, but for some
reason, all thirty-seven of my slaves like to tell people about me.  They
were the ones that bullied me into writing this little biography.  Yes, I
guess I am a little soft hearted when it comes to my slaves.

   Well, I guess I should tell you my name first.  It's a good and simple
Irish name: Michael McCormick.  Although, I grew up in south Oklahoma and
that's quite a ways from the mother land, as my mother likes to call it. 
To be more specific, I grew up in Bristow, Oklahoma.  It was a city that
had about forty thousand people at the very most.  It wasn't much, but it
was home and I took pride in calling it my home.  After all, a person
should be proud of their roots and that is exactly what I am.

   The area of Bristow we lived was a suburban, middle-class area that was
almost purely crime free.  It was very much unlike the poorer parts of the
city--a place where a person could get shot for the few dollars in his or
her pocket.  I grew up my entire life in the six bedroom two-story house.
Good times and bad times were both had in that house.  But for as long as I
live, I will always hold that house in my heart with more than a little
fondness.

   Growing up without a father was something that I never did fret about.
My mother and three sisters were more than enough to keep me content. 
There were quite a few things to do in Bristow and there was even a
community center that was only about a twenty minute bike ride away.  It
was in that place that I learned how to play pool and basketball.  I guess
I should tell you a little about my family.

   My mother's name was Tanya McCormick and she was a pretty awesome Mom,
as far as mothers went.  The lady most certainly provided for our family.
She made pretty damn good money as a Jr.  Partner at the only law firm in
Bristow.  Bringing home a couple of thousand dollars a week was more than
enough to keep us going.  It was her easy going personality and smile that
got her cases and she won more cases than most of the lawyers in that firm.


   As far as looks went, my Mom had flowing blond hair and the bluest eyes
that I had ever seen on anyone.  Take that and her hourglass figure and a
person could bet money that she got drooled at wherever she went.  Be it
the park or a crowded court room, the woman always stood out.  It would
amuse me to no end that people would stop what they were doing just to
listen to her or watch her walk.

   Then there were my sisters.  They were almost mini-copies of Mom.  They
had the same blue eyes and blonde hair, but they looked different in their
face.  I guess they got some of their looks from our father.  They were all
certainly beautiful however.  They were 14 and 16 respectively.  Yes, the
ones that were 14 were identical twins.  I'll tell you about the 16 year
old sister first.

   The name of that particular sister was Karen Danielle McCormick.  Her
family and friends always called her KD however, for obvious reasons.  At
sixteen, she was probably the most beautiful girl in her college.  That was
my opinion anyway--as bias as it might be.  However, I really don't think I
am thinking unfairly.  I have heard many a boy whisper about her and the
perfect body and face that she had.

   KD's personality was what I really loved though.  Unlike most beautiful
girls, KD was very much cool.  She had the personality and temperament of a
tomboy.  She was a slow talkin', hard fightin', bad mouthed wildcat.  There
were many times that someone mouthed off at her in school and she would use
curse words that would That girl could make a sailor blush.  She loved to
give scathing replies that held more than a few curse words to people that
she wanted to be away from.  If that didn't work, she would lead with her
fists and they would soon be flat on their back with a busted lip or
noise--being in martial arts since the age of four saw to that.  My sister
most certainly did not believe in the slapping game most girls played.  She
once told me that if she hit someone, she wanted them to feel it.

   However, more than that, KD was one of my best friends and probably the
most important person in my world at the time.  She was never to busy to
spare some time for her 'kid brother'.  Whether it was playing billiards at
the community center or playing catch with a football, she was always there
to have fun with me.  Mom tried to do those things, but her job kept her
busier than hell.

   KD liked to dress differently than most other girls as well.  She liked
to wear lose jeans and large t-shirts that hid her rather large breasts. 
It was like she did not want boys to ogle her and that was the plain truth
of the matter.  My sister wanted boys to respect her for her mind and not
her body.  I guess she really was like most girls in that area.  KD had the
most beautiful mind I had ever heard of.  What a mind that it was too. 
That girl was a tech-geek if there ever was one.  She was the one that
turned me onto computer programming and computer science.  I got interested
in it when I saw her putting an entire computer together after ordering the
parts separately.  Yeah, she was damn smart in that area and taught me most
of what I know of computer programming and hardware.  She was the one that
made me believe that it wasn't pronounced Microsoft, it was properly
pronounced Microshit.

   I knew long before I was thirteen that she was the best friend a guy
could have.

   Then there were the twins--the annoying twins.  Don't get me wrong, I
love them dearly.  However, they were the exact definition for the term
airhead cheerleaders when they conversed with folks.  They also took great
pride in cutting those down that didn't fit into the word normal.  If you
were a nerd, loner or metal head, they would cut you down with scathing
words in public.  It didn't bother them a bit to do this.

   Unfortunately, I fell into all three categories while I was at school.
Did they cut me slack because I was family?  Nope.  They took delight in
embarrassing me whenever they got a chance.  Yet, I still loved them like
sisters so I put up with it and ignored them when they did this.  It is
true about the saying that you can't pick your family.

   I did love them though.

   I guess I should tell you a little more about myself at this point.

   At the age of thirteen, I was probably the definition of the word
average--when it came to looks.  I was not some ravishingly handsome rogue
but I wasn't ugly either.  Unlike the girls, I got the brown hair and green
eyes that my father had before he died in a car crash.  I dressed for
school in plain blue jeans and rock band t-shirts--most of which were of
the band Nickelback or Linkin Park.

   When it came to school, however, I was a bit more than average.  At the
age thirteen, on my birthday, I entered my senior year of high school. 
Yeah, I skipped quite a few grades in my younger years.  That most
certainly didn't help people stop making fun of the 'little nerd'
throughout school.  Even though I was in martial arts since I had been four
(just like KD) and was in excellent physical condition, I still took a lot
of ridiculous ribbing for my intelligence.

   I usually just shrugged it off and ignored them though.  My sensei
always told me that walking away from a confrontation usually made you the
bigger man.  I took to that advice reluctantly.  It was reluctantly because
it made me look like a big puss.  There had not been a confrontation that
required me to use violence yet at school though.  There was the time at
the community center that I broke a boy's wrist that threw a punch at my
face while wearing so brass knuckles.  Other than the wrist, I only knocked
out two of his teeth.

   No, I didn't feel a lick of guilt over the incident.  You will find out
quickly in this biography that it takes an awful damn lot to make me feel
guilty about doing something to someone that isn't family.  I guess you
could say I have a bit of sociopath in me when it came to strangers.  There
are some things in the future parts of this biography that will both shock
and appall you.  I warn you of this early and can only say in my defense
that the only good enemy is a dead enemy.  All I can say is that I took an
awful lot of goddamn pleasure eliminating the fuckers that wanted to harm
my family.

   Don't get me wrong.  At thirteen, I was not some sort of super fighter
that could take on five or six guys and kick their ass.  I had the belt
that was below brown and I was just slightly better than average at the
time when it came to martial arts.  Still, it gave me an edge against those
who were untrained bullies.  Moreover, I never like those silly bastards
who like picking on those they were fairly certain they could win against.
Where was the challenge in that, I ask you?

   It was on September 1, the first day of my senior year of high school,
when my life took on a very strange note.  It was something that I still
have trouble believing, even to this day.  It was on that day that my life
took a turn for the surreal and didn't stop for years.  It happened at
exactly 3:37PM...

   ******************************

   Walking out of the Bristow High School was always a chore and the first
day of school was no exception.  Getting out of the building and in under a
clear blue sky was refreshing though.  There were no staring eyes that were
directed at me.  It was just me and the gentle breeze.  Well, that and the
1500 kids that were walking out with me.  That was what I called a chore.
You figure that one out of every ten people is a prick?  Well, there were
fifteen hundred kids here, you do the math.  I adjusted the black leather
book bag on the shoulder of my black t-shirt and started my walk to my
bike. No, it was not a motorcycle.  The damn thing was a simple ten speed
bike.  At thirteen, that was about all I could hope for.  The ride home
took about twenty minutes but I was still glad that I had the bike because
I could do with some exercise.

   As I walked, I kept my head down and used my peripheral vision to look
out for one of the dozens of fuck-nut bullies that targeted me last year.
It had been only name-calling last year, but I knew better than most that
the situation could change in the blink of an eye if I let myself relax. 
This was part of the reason that I hated public school.  Don't get me
wrong, I love learning new things.  I just hated doing it in public school.

   Walking through masses of idiotic teenagers was not my idea of a good
time and it never would be.  About the only teen that I could tolerate was
my sister KD.  She was pretty cool and smarter than hell.  She was also my
best friend.  But she did not even go to this school.  She went to
community college because she graduated early when she was fourteen.  That
was two years ago, and I certainly missed her at the school.  I did see her
at home but it wasn't the same.  For one thing, she always helped me watch
my back at school.  Now I had to do it by myself.

   Finally I broke away from the biggest part of the mob of students and
made my way to the bike rack.  It was where the blue ten speed mom bought
me for my birthday was.  I made damn sure that it was chained up tight with
the best combination lock I could find.  I kneeled down beside the tire and
quickly twisted the combination through the motions, opening it in seconds.

   "Lookie here guys.  It's nerd boy.  How're you doing nerd boy?  Did you
have a good summer?  Did you miss me you little faggot?" I heard a voice
from about ten feet away say.

   Closing my eyes, I groaned silently.  I really don't need this shit
today, I thought to myself with a mental shake of the head.  Looking over
my shoulder, I spotted the fuck-nut that was speaking to me--or rather,
insulting me.

   It was James Carson.  He was a tenth grader and was about sixteen years
of age.  The fucker stood about an even six foot as well.  Compared to my
five foot four status, things were not looking good.  Considering that he
played starting linebacker for the school's football team, he had more than
a few muscles.  It really was just not my day.  Not to mention that three
of his football buddies were standing behind him smirking.

   I looked at the dipshit and thought about all the times he ragged on me
and called me names.  The thoughts in my head were about how many times the
big shit did it in public.  It seemed like my mind just blanked with
extreme anger when I thought about it.  Why do I have to put up with this?
Year after year I just walk away and ignore the idiots that do this to me.
Why?  I asked myself silently.

   Slowly climbing to my feet, I thought over my options.  I could walk
away and have the small crowd that was now watching the scene laugh at me.
Or, I could do something out of the ordinary for my style, just this once.
Yeah, I made my mind up quickly.

   "Why don't you go suck some cock like you usually do in the locker room,
numb-nuts?  Or better yet, why don't you just ram your goddamn empty noggin
into that oak tree over there so you save me the trouble of doing it for
you'' I asked him in a taunting voice.  The rage in my mind was kind of
taking over at that point.  I smiled viciously as the prick looked
completely shocked.  At first his face turned white, then red and then
finally purple as his rage mounted.  I was ready for his rage.  I wanted
him to attack me, and then I would be justified in beating the hell out of
him.  However, things did not go that way.

   This was where things became a goddamn surreal situation.

   After his face turned purple, something happened in my mind that felt
odd.  It was not painful--far from it actually.  It just felt weird.  It
started in the area that my brain stem should be and moved inside my skull,
at the back of my head.  It was a tingling feeling that I have never in my
life felt--and it was fucking intense.  It also brought everything into
sharp focus.  It was like I was taking in every detail around me more than
usual.  Everything stood out starkly and seemed to be blindingly obvious to
me.  It was also like the light from the sun was more bright than usual.

   It was when I was feeling this that James' face went slack and pale and
he nodded dumbly three times.  "That's a good idea," he replied faintly.

   Then he took off at a dead run to the oak tree that was in the school
yard, by the picnic tables.  That boy ran as fast as he could and he could
run fairly fast.  When he had made it within ten feet, he lowered his head
and...  CRUNCH!  James smashed his head into that tree while running at
full speed.  It made a sickening crunch that even made me wince.  I
actually saw the blood splatter from the top of his now cracked skull when
he hit.

   The crunch I heard was what scared me the most though.  I knew exactly
what it was when I looked at the body of James as he laid on the soft
grass. It was the extremely awkward angle of the head that clued me into
what that crunch was.  It was the teenager's neck of course.  That ram into
the tree busted the top of his skull open and it also broke his fucking
neck!

   I really don't have the words to tell you how freaked out I was at this
point.  It wasn't because of remorse.  Like I said, I am a little bit of a
sociopath when it comes to the people that are not friends or family.  It
was because of the visions of me sitting in a jail cell that flitted
through my mind.  Remember, I had been thirteen years old and this was the
first time I had ever seen someone die.  Hell, this was the first time that
I had ever seen a dead body period.  All the time that I stood there,
twenty-five yards away, I was staring at that body with sick fascination.

   There were all sorts of things running through my head as I stared at
that body.  The number one thing was how the fuck did I get him to do that.
And why the fuck did he do it anyway.  James never struck me as suicidal.
The teenager had been on top of the world.  Hell, he was dating last years
prom queen.  Why in the nine levels of hell would he do that?  I was
expecting to fight him and teach him a lesson, not kill him.  How did this
happen?

   It was then that I started thinking about that tingling sensation.  It
was fairly strong when I experienced it.  Moreover, James' face went blank
of emotion after I started feeling that sensation.  Could that have been
something to do with it?  Could that sensation be a prelude to controlling
his actions?  This was such an odd and crazy thing to think about.  I tried
to focus on the here and now after I thought about that.

   When I thought about the tingling sensation, I noticed that it was still
in my head.  In fact, I noticed fairly quickly that it was getting
stronger. Second by second passed and it seemed with each second the
tingling sensation seemed to multiply by variables of four--or what felt
like it anyway.  All too soon, the pleasant sensation was gone.

   It was replaced by an enormously painful pressure filled sensation. 
That sensation in my head slowly turned into a spiking sensation that was
both sharp and piercing.  Moreover, it was directly in the back of my head.
My vision blurred and I vaguely heard people screaming at the top of their
lungs.  Probably the air headed cheerleaders that I call my sisters, I
thought with a detachment that would have been frightening if I were
focused enough to realize it.

   Then I felt like I was floating slowly to the ground, even as the pain
was getting so sharp that things were going grey.  I vaguely felt myself
hit the ground with enough force to rattle my teeth, but I felt no pain in
my body.  My entire focus was on the enormous amount of hellish pain that
was radiating from my head.  The grayness of my vision was suddenly
replaced with a blackness that made a moonless night seem completely tame.

   Am I dying?  was my last thought as I slipped from the conscious world.

   ________________________

   On to chapter two...




   

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